The Daring Game (11 page)

Finally Miss Tavistock confronted them again. “I am extremely disappointed. Since no one seems willing to confess now, I only hope that whoever took the money will come to me later. You will certainly not get the ice cream Mrs. Renfrew was going to buy for you with it. This is a very poor beginning to the term, a poor beginning indeed.” She marched out.

After Lights Out, Helen couldn't stop talking about it. “It's so unfair. How does she know it's one of us? It could be a senior, or a day-girl—even a matron! I bet the Pouncer took it herself so she wouldn't have to spend it on us.”

But the others were too subdued by the incident to comment. When a message arrived on the Slipper Express—“What a drag! Charlie's a pain to take up all our TV time”—no one even bothered to answer.

10

Being Bad

E
liza wasn't used to being unhappy. She turned to her daily classroom activities with dull relief and tried to ignore the feeling of wretchedness inside her. Miss Bixley had said she'd get over it. She waited for the heaviness to lighten and wondered how long it would take. The first weeks of the year seemed to have a cloud over them, like the cloud that hovered endlessly over the city, pouring down rain.

“It's the worst term,” complained Miss Bixley, wringing out Helen's socks after their walk. “So dark and wet and you all in bad moods from being cooped up so much. I'd rather have snow than this incessant downpour.”

Eliza agreed fervently. At least you could go out and
play
in the snow. For ten days they'd had their breaks indoors, boxed up in the school basement like restless animals.

The only times she liked now were the Saturdays when the school took them skiing on Seymour Mountain. Skiing was the only sport she'd ever been good at; her father had first taken her to the Rockies when she was six.
Zooming down the hill was like flying, and the wind rushing in her face blew away her homesickness for a while. But even high up on the mountain they were often rained out.

“We need a dare,” said Helen one Sunday evening when the Yellow Dorm were cleaning their oxfords.

“I'm game,” said Eliza at once. She had to do something to relieve the tedium of this term.

“I'm not,” said Pam predictably. “Helen, you're not supposed to use that bottled stuff. It cracks when it's dry.”

“It's much easier than all that rubbing,” said Helen calmly. She continued to ooze black liquid out of a sponge-tipped bottle onto her shoes and the floor as well.

Carrie spat on the leather of her second shoe, then polished it glossy. “Do I have to put my name in again, since I've already done one?”

“No—just Eliza and Jean and me.”

I hope it's my name, thought Eliza as Helen shook the beret containing the three slips of paper.

It was. A welcome eagerness stirred inside her; it seemed a long time since she had felt this kind of excitement.

Helen didn't consider very long. “Okay, Eliza Doolittle. I dare you … to lose a house point.”

“Oh no!” gasped Jean, who, like Eliza, had never lost a house point. “That's too much.”

Carrie agreed. “I don't think the dares should be things to do with the school. Just the dorm.”

“She wouldn't do it, anyway,” said Pam. “Would you, Eliza?”

“How about it, Eliza?” Helen grinned at her confidently. “I've lost six so far this year. It's not that drastic.”

“I've
never
lost a house point,” stated Pam firmly. “And I never will. If you want to let down your house for a silly game, Eliza, all I can say is I'm glad you're not in Hemlock.”

“Don't do it, Eliza,” pleaded Carrie. “When I lost one for talking in the hall it was terrible, confessing it in front of everyone.”

Eliza listened to them silently, observing the circle of their waiting faces. A strange recklessness surged up in her. Why
not
try to lose a house point? She was tired of being good all the time. The biggest problem was disappointing Madeline, but she put that out of her mind. And besides, Madeline was distant this term. She went around with a dreamy look on her face and barely seemed to notice Eliza.

Tossing her head, Eliza said, “All right. I'll do it. How long do I have?”

“A week,” said Helen gleefully. “I could lose one in half an hour, but you'll have to try harder—they aren't used to watching you.”

H
ELEN WAS RIGHT.
Eliza began on Monday morning with the most common offence: talking in prayers. She whispered to her neighbour, who refused to answer. The prefect
standing beside 7A, looking distinguished in her special light blue blazer, seemed lost in a day-dream and didn't even notice. Eliza spoke again in the line back to the classroom, to the same girl, who hissed “Shhh!” in annoyance. But the tall prefect who was stationed outside only called out, “No talking, please.” What was the matter with them? Usually they were eager to pounce on the grade sevens, whom they said needed to be whipped into shape after being coddled in the Junior School.

For the rest of the day she continued to talk in the wrong places—in the hall, in class and in the cloakroom. Either no one noticed, or they simply asked her to be quiet, with a surprised look at the usually well-behaved Eliza.

She sat alone at tea after classes were over for the day, trying to think of all the crimes she could commit. It had to be something in school; the house-point system didn't apply in the residence.

Not doing your homework—Helen had lost several for that. But it was one area of her life Eliza knew she couldn't fudge. Being good at her schoolwork was her only security these dreary days; she didn't want to lose the soothing self-respect it gave her.

Rudeness to teachers or prefects. That would be difficult to pretend too; she wasn't a very good actor.

Forgetting your books. Being late. Being untidy. Now those all had possibilities. She slurped her milky tea thoughtfully.

“Read your tea leaves, Eliza?” Roberta, a plump grade nine boarder, sat down beside her. All the grade nines
were reading tea leaves. It was their latest fad. Eliza didn't believe in it, but she turned the thick white cup over onto its saucer and rotated it the required three times.

“I see … I see …” murmured Roberta, gazing into the flecked pattern of the tea leaves meaningfully, “… that tomorrow you are going to do something unusual.”

“You're right—I am! Thanks, Roberta.” Eliza got up, leaving the girl staring into the teacup with surprise. Her predictions didn't usually get such an enthusiastic response.

T
UESDAY WAS
uniform inspection day. After lunch all the students had to line up in their classrooms while prefects checked for brushed blazers, crisp blouses, sharp pleats and shiny shoes. Two or more areas of sloppiness almost guaranteed a lost house point. Eliza was going to make sure there would be no wavering over her.

It was easy to look messy, being difficult enough to look tidy at the best of times. Her oxfords were, unfortunately, already polished, but she scraped her toes along the pavement of the driveway on her way back from practising and shuffled through a pile of muddy leaves before she came in. For the rest she had to wait until fifteen minutes after breakfast when they were allowed back in the dorm to collect their things for school.

Hidden in the bathroom away from the others, whom she could hear brushing their blazers, Eliza wet her skirt and stretched out the pleats in the damp patches. She had saved a bit of toast, loaded with marmalade, from breakfast. Dribbling it down the front of her blouse, she
covered it up with her sweater. Then she pulled her cape around her and hurried over to school.

Later in the day at the back of the classroom, after a lunch where she had managed to spill soup on her blazer without even trying, Eliza got ready for inspection. She took off her sweater, ripped open part of the hem of her skirt and threw away the elastic bands that held up her socks. Then she joined the line of waiting students.

Just her luck to get Sarah, the nicest and most understanding of all the twelve prefects. “That's an unusual way of wearing your sweater, Louise … Oh, I know you like a round-necked look better, but don't you think the V at the back will look funny when you take your blazer off? … Carol, your blouse is rather rumpled … Ah, Pam, neat as a pin as usual. Oh! Eliza!”

Everyone stared at Eliza as Sarah perused her in astonishment. Maybe I overdid it, she thought sheepishly, as she saw herself through their eyes: scuffed dusty shoes, socks slumped around her ankles, drooping puckered skirt, blouse smeared with a rusty stain and blazer splashed with congealing spots of green pea soup.

“Eliza, you're not the tidiest person around, but I've never seen you look like this! Are you having a bad day? Is something wrong?”

Sarah's kindness was exasperating. Just take off a house point and get it over with, thought Eliza. Since the prefect expected an answer she mumbled, “I don't know.”

Sarah continued to gaze at her in wonder. “Hmmm … I don't know either. You know, Eliza, you should lose a
house point for this—even two! But you usually at least
try
to be neat. I'll let you off this week, but next Tuesday you must be perfect—not a thing wrong—or I will take one off. Okay?”

Eliza didn't want to lose a house point
next
week. It would be too late for the dare then. Sarah sent her off to tidy up before the bell. She was so worn out from her experiment that she gave up trying to be bad for the rest of the day.

“W
ANT SOME IDEAS
? I'd be glad to give you some,” offered Helen that night after Pam had told the others how Eliza had looked.

“No, I'll do it myself,” said Eliza stubbornly. It amazed her that it was so difficult. Once you had acquired a reputation for good behaviour, people didn't see you any other way.

Forgetfulness and lateness were still possibilities. On Wednesday morning she forgot her French book, but Mme Courvoisier simply sent her all the way back to the dorm to get it. On Wednesday afternoon she deliberately left her clean gym clothes in her desk, but half the class had also forgotten theirs. Mrs. Lomax was so exasperated she made them do circuit training, which they hated, instead of letting them try out the new trampoline.

It must happen today, thought Eliza on Thursday. Tomorrow was house meeting day; if she didn't lose a point until then she'd have to wait a whole week until she apologized publicly for it, and she couldn't bear that. It
should be easy enough to be late for something—and that was her last resort.

After the afternoon break, once more an indoor one spent in the stuffy cloakroom that smelled of wet wood, Eliza slipped into the downstairs bathroom and sat on a toilet seat for ten minutes by her watch. Then she walked down the hushed corridors with a beating heart.

Behind each closed door droned a teacher's voice. She could hear Miss Tavistock reciting a poem to the grade elevens in ringing tones: “I am the master of my fate / I am the captain of my soul.” Eliza tried to make her wobbly knees move faster without her shoes resounding any louder on the parquet floor.

Standing outside her classroom door, she listened to them read their parts from
A Midsummer Night's Dream.
Eliza was Bottom, and she wished desperately that she were already in there, waiting to speak. But it was too late now. She opened the door.

“Elizabeth, where on earth have you been?” The voices stopped and Miss Clark, usually kind, looked up crossly.

Eliza had forgotten to think of a reason. This was all getting much too complicated; she wished she'd never accepted Helen's dare. “I'm sorry, Miss Clark,” she stammered. “I-I was reading a book in the cloakroom and I forgot the time.”

“You shouldn't be so absent-minded. You can bring me your house card after class. Sit down now and get ready to read.”

So it was done. Eliza's face burned as she bent over her Shakespeare. She was relieved that the first part of the dare was accomplished, but facing the consequences would be even worse.

First she had to take up her green house card, already fuller than most in the plus column, to Miss Clark to fill in. “Unpunctuality,” the teacher wrote swiftly. She looked as if she were about to say something, but then she initialled and dated the card and handed it back without a word.

“Y
OU DID IT
! Welcome to the club,” whispered Helen at dinner. They were at the same table that month, and tonight, surrounded by three seniors debating loudly the number of calories in junket, they could talk without being overheard.

Eliza played with the slippery white blobs of her dessert. Usually she enjoyed it, but tonight she wasn't hungry. “I wish I hadn't. Tomorrow's going to be awful—I feel like a phoney.”

“You're still much too good—but I'll change you. Can I have your dessert if you're not going to eat it?”

O
N FRIDAY MORNING
Eliza crept by the large house point chart outside Miss Tavistock's office in the school. She glanced quickly at the “1” that had been written beside her name. At least it was the end of the week and it would only be up for a day. It was embarrassing, but also oddly thrilling, to see it there.

House meetings began at one o'clock. The list of persons who had lost house points was read first, right after the Minutes.

Eliza decided to be a knight, confessing a necessary disloyalty to the rest of the Round Table. Standing in front of the room full of curious faces, she pulled back her shoulders and held her head high. What was it she'd heard Miss Tavistock say? “I am the captain of my fate”—something like that. She avoided catching Madeline's eye. The house captain was standing behind the desk looking solemn, as she always did on house meeting days.

There were five other offenders in line with her. The recitation began. Eliza quickly counted and saw that she would be third.